


what do you call a noodle that doesn't belong

by shamyesapsoorap



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Fic Exchange, Fluff, Food Fight, High School AU, Humor, Modern AU, One-Shot, at first, chapter two is almost ready but i need to SLEEP, i'm gonna try to just add one chapter?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5452499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamyesapsoorap/pseuds/shamyesapsoorap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An im-pasta! Ha.</p><p>This is from two prompts, both of which I accidentally totally changed around: 1.) worst idea ever? let's do it, and 2.) oh no I just threw spaghetti at the scariest kid in school.</p><p>In which Clarke is the scariest kid in school, and Bellamy DOES NOT throw spaghetti at her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what do you call a noodle that doesn't belong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildLioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildLioness/gifts).



> I'm really confused about what I'm supposed to say/reveal? So I guess I'll stick with: merry Christmas to the lovely M! I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it. (Please don't hate me too much for screwing up your prompt.)
> 
> Also, the characters are not mine, obviously.

Bellamy felt a foot collide with his shin and looked up at Raven in alarm.  She was sitting there, across the table, forkful of pasta forgotten halfway to her mouth, eyes locked on something – _someone_ – over his shoulder.  
  
He didn't even have to look.  He knew who it was.  
  
Instead, his eyes slid to Octavia, who was sitting next to Raven – but it was too late.  She was looking past him, too, toward the door of the cafeteria, and the person that he knew had just entered.  
  
Octavia's fork clattered to her plate, sending tomato sauce splattering across the table and somehow onto Bellamy's nose.  Using a corner of his napkin, he delicately wiped it off.  
  
"O, have you considered that some men like to be wooed with, say, words?" he asked her.  
  
She was getting a positively dangerous look now, and she still wasn't looking at him.  She _tsk_ ed dismissively.  "Lincoln wouldn't," she said.  "Look at him.  All those muscles.  He wants _action_."  She grinned.  "I can do action."  
  
Raven seized Octavia's wrist, which was creeping worryingly toward her fork.  "Write the man a poem," she growled.  
  
But – it was too late.  Octavia wrenched her wrist free, and in one fluid motion, grabbed her plate of red-sauce-covered spaghetti and stood up.  "Food fight!" she shouted, and hurled the plate straight at the table between her and Lincoln.  
  
"Oh, no," Bellamy moaned, craning around to see who'd been hit, and –  
  
"Oh, shit," Raven said.  Quietly.  
  
Raven saying anything quietly was a bad sign, but the only worse sign was the fact that every other conversation in the cafeteria had somehow died out, and everyone was turning to face them.  
  
Including one pasta-covered blonde.  
  
Oh, _shit_.  
  
In the silence, Octavia's voice was loud.  "What the fuck, Bell, why'd you throw that?  Food fights are _dumb_..."  
  
Bellamy turned to face her, furious, only to find that she'd somehow stolen _his_ plate and was now shoveling _his_ spaghetti into her mouth with an innocent expression.  " _What_?" he spluttered, but she wasn't paying attention.  To Octavia's left, Raven was still looking at Clarke.  
  
And Clarke was still looking at him.  
  
Bellamy felt himself shriveling under her gaze.  "I didn't throw the pasta," he protested weakly.  
  
Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Clarke unfolded her napkin, never taking her eyes off his.  He stared back, frozen.  
  
But finally she raised the napkin to wipe her face, and the spell was broken.  Chatter broke out in the cafeteria again, and Bellamy whirled to face Octavia.  He took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for a tirade, but before he could begin telling her off –  
  
"He didn't even notice," Octavia pouted.  "Lincoln.  Look, he's not even looking over here."  
  
At that point, Raven snorted so enormously that Bellamy's concentration was broken, and even he had to grudgingly smile.  "See what he's doing, O?" Raven asked.  "He's _reading_."  
  
"I bet it's poetry," Bellamy said, and Raven nodded seriously.  
  
"It's not," Octavia said, equally serious.  "Poetry is dumb."  
  
"As dumb as food fights?" Raven asked, and Octavia had the good grace to blush.  
  
"Sorry about that, Bell," she muttered.  
  
Raven had already moved on.  "No, poetry's cool.  It's like science, but with _words_.  Okay, look, I'm gonna write a haiku right now."  She hesitated, but she had both of their attention.  Counting on her fingers, she said, "Um...You stick to the form.  Or else you're in – or else _there_ _will_ _be_ trouble."  And then, in a slightly strained voice, "Speaking of which, Clarke."  
  
Bellamy froze.  
  
"Hello," said a deadly sweet voice, and someone slid into the seat next to his.  He forced his eyes up to meet – yep.  Clarke's.  Ice-blue and piercing, and not even the slightest bit amused.  
  
"I didn't throw the pasta?" he tried.  He looked to his friends for help, but Raven was studiously avoiding his eyes, and even Octavia was uncharacteristically focused on her food.  
  
"Right," Clarke said calmly and clearly.  And menacingly.  "Yet the fact remains that there is tomato on my history notes.  And I have a test tomorrow.  Which you know, because we are in the same class."  
  
"Are we?" Bellamy asked weakly.  They were, and he knew it.  Everyone in the entire school knew _exactly_ which classes they had with the beautiful Clarke Griffin, and if those classes were graded on a curve, they could just forget about getting an A.  The real surprise was Clarke having noticed _him_.  
  
She hadn't responded, but was staring at him with her mouth thin and eyebrows raised.  Waiting for him to get it...  
  
" _Oh_.  You want my notes."  
  
"Please."  
  
Bellamy yanked them out of his overstuffed bag and attempted halfheartedly to shuffle the pages into alignment.  Clarke watched in silence.  
  
"And if – if I want to study?" he asked carefully.  
  
"Well, you should have thought of that before you splattered _my_ notes into oblivion."  She sighed.  "You got yourself into this predicament.  Anyway, your notes are probably shit, aren't they."  
  
Bellamy thought that was a little unfair, but who knows?  Maybe everyone's notes were shit next to Clarke's.  Hers were probably aggressively color-coded.  Well, she'd have to make do.  Bellamy might be able to borrow Miller's.  
  
He'd just finished convincing himself that everything was going to be fine when Clarke heaved another sigh and got up, going back to her table without saying another word.  Octavia sniggered into her pasta.  
  
" _You should have thought of that before you splattered my notes into oblivion_ ," Raven mimicked unkindly.  "What a classy girl.  I hope she fails the test."  
  
"Oh, so _now_ you can talk."  
  
Raven smirked.  "Sorry, Bell.  Just didn't want to get in the way of some really good intimidation.  Take note, O – that's the stuff that's going to _really_ impress Lincoln."  
  
Octavia actually looked thoughtful.  "You think so?"  
  
" _No_ ," Bellamy said forcefully.  "Absolutely not.  Okay, I'm done."  He stood up and swung his backpack on.  "O, I'll see you tonight.  Raven, hopefully never."  
  
"Ditto, baby."  
  



End file.
